


Did it hurt? (When you fell from heaven, and for me)

by sprx77



Series: Send me away to the words of a love song [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Banter, Dimension Travel, F/F, It's a one shot alright, Konan's muscles in an ANBU shirt, Mei's thirst, Sometimes you're stranded in a zombie apocalypse and no ninja and you just, Swords, That is all, They're both gay and impressed, Timeline What Timeline, Useless Lesbians, an entire separate character tbh, implied mutual pining, thank, you gotta - Freeform, you gotta flirt with the first pretty ninja that falls out of the sky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: There's a lake of lava and an annoying number of fetid zombie parts lying around, by the time Mei gets a breather. Konan falls out of the sky and into the fray.Mei intends smooth diplomacy, an offer of alliance in this strange world, but what she actually says is: “Oh thank god.”





	Did it hurt? (When you fell from heaven, and for me)

Mei wiped lava from her lips, eyes darting side to side. She’s killed hundreds of the walking corpses, but the light and noise only seems to draw more.

The only people around have no chakra signatures to speak of, though she’s always been a piss poor tracker.

A killing field of molten rock surrounded her and as she watched, more zombies trudged in, heedless of the immediate, sizzling death. Within minutes, there were enough soupy parts to serve as a bridge for the newest ones in the endless march.

She grimaced, spinning a kunai into grip. They weren’t hard to kill, just _tedious_ for their insane numbers.

Before she could dive back into the fray, a dark shape blurred down to the edge of the lake. She resolved into a woman with a short purple bob, arms bared by a tight black shirt in classic black-ops style.

More importantly, the woman is clearly a shinobi. She wields a thin straight blade with reluctant grace. Mei is Kiri, through and through. A blade was pressed into her hands before she could write. It’s clear from her body language that she’s not the biggest fan of the weapon, despite her proficiency. Still, the undead are no fellow shinobi to seize the opportunity. She cleaves through them methodically.

Mei can’t help but stare.

(She wants, abruptly and very strongly, to see how this warrior _really_ fights. With kunai? Jutsu, senbon, shuriken? If this is how she is with a clearly unfamiliar sword…)

When the wave is decimated, and they have some room to breathe, the shinobi body flickers over, wiping a hand through the hair clinging to her sweaty forehead, flicking her soiled sword in disgust. Brain matter and zombie juice flings off the blade.

Mei intends smooth diplomacy, an offer of alliance in this strange world, but what she actually says is: “Oh thank god.”

The woman starts.

Mei turns the color of her lava. Not for the first time does she contemplate forming her own island, in the middle of uncharted sea, and exiling herself there.

The woman stares for a second, then throws her head back to laugh with her whole body. It’s jarring, such a change from her perfectly serene features, that—even after only a few minutes of interaction—Mei suspects it happens rarely, if at all. She has no smile lines about her mouth, her eyes, but here this dignified stranger laughs with all of herself and Mei thinks: I did that.

She grins in offer, wry, “You’re the only shinobi I've seen for weeks.”

Only two, but still. It had been exhausting; the fruitless reconnaissance and dealing with the terrified civilians, beaten down and wary from this apocalyptic world.

The shinobi lowers her sword, moving to adjust her bandages. She goes through an equipment check with practiced motions, the straight ends of her hair brushing her neck—the pale skin there a striking lance of confidence, of vulnerability.

“Konan.” She says, looking up at Mei from under her hair, kneeling to place blades in her boot. She quirks the smallest smirk, the hint of raised brow to indicate ironic amusement at their predicament, and Mei’s heart races.

“Terumi Mei,” She responds, staring only a little. She kicks herself, smiles. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

She’s so awkward. This is why she’s single.

“Don’t you want to know what village I’m from?” Konan’s expression is as smooth as polished glass. Mei knows a trap when she sees one.

“I don’t see any villages here.” She replies, careful and carefully nonchalant.

Konan hums, smoothing the mesh skirt over her leggings—and masterfully disguising the blades strapped to her thighs.

“Did you have a plan in mind?” Konan asks, and it’s like a venus flytrap: pretty, innocent looking, and absolutely a test you could fail, to be devoured ruthlessly.

Mei is excellent at tests of knowledge, tests of strength. It’s only tests of the heart that stumble her, and here is a gorgeous woman with a sharp edge to her.

Still, she grins with teeth. “I propose we do as shinobi do. Here are all these civilians in need of saving…”

“And us in need of coin.” Konan finishes, humor in her voice if not her face. “Sounds about right.”

Her voice is a sigh against Mei’s senses, soft and deadly. She’s as dangerous as the steel on her back and it’s a little thrilling.

She doesn’t miss that Konan looks at her just the same, calculating, assessing.

Appreciative?

Time would tell.

“Lead the way.” Konan says—challenges. It’s a not-so-subtle challenge.

Mei has yet to meet a challenge she couldn’t rise to, romance aside—and even then, as now, she _tried her damndest._

She’ll meet this one and, if she plays her cards right, might meet the other, too.

It’s not often pretty girls fall out of the sky, after all. You’ve got to make the most of it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A valentine's prompt that's been filled for weeks now. I finally took the time to type it up. *finger guns*
> 
> Holla


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